'That Little Girl.' A novel. New edition

Chapter I. Mother And Son

" Do I mourn ? For the day and the dream, perchance ; For the hope too high, and the trust too true ; For the old repose, and the old romance, And love's lost rapture — but not for you ! " "A CHILD!" and the speaker's voice vibrates with Tl unmistakable and unconcealed dismay. "And a delicate child — without any of its natural guardians or protectors ! My dear little mother, what could you have been thinking of?" And Guy Lorraine looks down at his mother as he speaks, with a comical expression of horror in his decidedly handsome eyes. "Well, dear," says Lady Lorraine, apologetically, "you know the poor little motherless thing has been ill ; and her father cannot be very well off, for I heard, not very long ago, that he had lost a good deal of money lately in some kind of shares (and he never had very much, poor fellow), so you see, Guy, I really felt obliged to ask her.

It will be a nice change for the poor child." THAT LLTTLE GLRL. 10 (Here Guy is heard to observe that if his mother feels herself obliged to entertain the daughters of all her acquaintances who have lost money lately in " some kind of shares," she will have her hands full, and the house as well.) "Why should you ask her?" he goes on, after a pause. " Major Carewe must have other friends, I imagine. You haven't seer, him for years," "Well, to tell the truth, his letter hinted so plainly that he would like her to come, that I really couldn't very well help myself," admits the old lady, hesitatingly. " Ah ! and what will you do with her ? " pursues her son. " She won't look at Parkins, you know, /shouldn't, if I were a child. I know how it will be ; she will attach herself to me in the appallingly filial way that all children invariably do (why, I can't imagine) ; and follow me about all over the place, insisting upon impossible an swers to unheard-of questions, until my brain is reduced to a mere nothing."

The above conversation takes place one summer after noon in the cool, half-darkened drawing-room at Court Lorraine. A drowsy quiet lies over the grand old house ; the sun is pouring his rays generously down over the lovely gardens and the velvety lawn, and is stealing in through the chinks of the blinds to rest lovingly on Lady Lorraine's sweet old face as she pours out the tea into tiny fragile cups of eggshell china. She is the beau ideal of what an old lady should be (would there were more like her) ; every one loves her ; rich and poor alike make her the confidante of their joys and sorrows ; young and old come to her to laugh and to weep. She has a few little weaknesses, however, which make her charm ingly human ; and not the least of them is, that she MOTHER AND SON. 11 absolutely idolizes, and would utterly spoil if she could, her tall, handsome, only son, Sir Guy Lorraine.

Her husband died thirty years ago, when Guy was a boy of five, and his sister Constance two years younger. But this sister died, after a brief, unhappy married life, nine years before my story opens ; and the old lady's heart is utterly bound up, as I have said, in her only son. Guy is now thirty-five, and still unmarried ; and appar ently has every intention of remaining so. Sometimes his mother sighs regretfully, and wonders if the day will never come when she will see a fair young wife come to reign at the quiet old Court, to take her place when she has gone away for ever. Ten years ago, Guy passionately loved and was en gaged to a beautiful, fascinating girl, who, his mother thought, seemed to have bewitched him heart and soul. Within a month of the day fixed for their marriage, however, Beatrice Archdale threw him over for a man of more than twice his age, and three times his possessions : and the news of her marriage with Sir Clevely Fitzroy awaited him on hjs return from a three weeks' visit to Scotland, during which time he had received from her, almost daily, tender loving letters, full of ardent affection.

He went abroad with his regiment almost immediately afterwards ; and after an absence of five years, returned when the — th Hussars were ordered home ; sold out, and devoted his time and energies to his estate, which had much need of both. And during the five years which have elapsed since then, he has remained, in spite of the match-making mammas of the whole county, perversely unimpression able. '• And how old is this extremely inconvenient little THAT LJTTLE GJRL. 12 girl ? " Guy inquires, after a pause. " Five or six, I suppose." "Well, I really don't know, dear; I was trying to remember. She can't be less than twelve or thirteen, at the very least. Let me see," she goes on, meditatively, " Major Carewe did not marry until he was past forty." "Owing to the cruelty of a certain lady!" interrupts her son, mischievously.

" Be quiet, my dear," says the old lady, with a pretty little blush. " And there were two older daughters who died. Yes, she must be about twelve or thirteen." " Ah ! that's not so bad. She writes an uncommonly good hand for a child," observes Guy, glancing at the note his mother holds out to him. " Tuesday, she says, and this is Friday. By-the-bye, Nellie and Derrington are coming to-morrow, are they not?" " Yes, but they are not going to bring Tottie. She is staying with old Mrs. Trevor. Dear me, I can scarcely fancy that child's being nearly three years old ! How time flies ! " "Oh! I had a note from Teddy Carstairs," says Guy, producing a bundle of letters from his pocket. " He is coming here on Monday ; he has a fortnight's leave." But Lady Lorraine does not hear this last remark of her son's ; she is gazing absently into her tea-cup, and presently heaves a gentle little sigh.

Guy looks amused. " What a pity Major Carewe's daughter is not a little older ; is it not, mother ? Now, was not that what you were thinking, you most dangerous and inveterate of match-makers? I know you of old!" He rises lazily as he speaks, and brings his cup to be refilled. " Well, my dear," she answers, absently dropping lumps MOTHER AND SON. 13 of sugar into his cup ad libitum. " I must confess it would have pleased me if she had been older, and if you could have cared for each other. Her mother was a charming woman, with the most wonderfully beautiful eyes I ever saw." Guy laughingly takes hold of the white hand that holds the sugar-tongs. " Stop, stop, mother ! Seven lumps of sugar are rather too much, even for me. Those seductive castles in the air are carrying you away." " Ah ! I quite forgot.

I will give you another cup. But oh, Guy, hozu pleased I should be if I saw you happily married. There are so many nice girls in our set ; and I am quite sure," she continues, with all a mother's pride in her voice, "you might have almost any one of them you pleased ! " Guy laughs heartily. " I fear, mother, that few, if any, of those charming young ladies would view my various shortcomings with your partial eyes. You forget what an old fellow I am getting ; and how extremely disagreeable I can be at times, even to you ! " He is standing with his back to the fireplace, looking down at his mother with loving, amused eyes. Certainly he looks a son to be proud of. Tall, strong, and well-built, with the clear-cut, haughty features and the proud aristocratic bearing of all the Lorraines, he looks every inch a soldier and a gentle man.

Perhaps the well-cut mouth and chin are a trifle too stern in repose ; the keen, dark eyes, with their straight black brows and long lashes, a trifle too keen ; but the dark handsome face softens wonderfully just now, as he looks at his mother — almost the one woman THAT LfTTLE GfRL. 14 in the world to whom he is ever his real self ; and who knows what a true, tender, loyal heart beats under that calm, cold manner which seems to have become habitual to him when in women's society, unless when he chooses it to be otherwise — which is seldom. " My dear mother," he says caressingly, after a short silence, " are you not satisfied with my undivided allegi ance to yourself? Are you tired of your boy, that you are so anxious to hand him over to some one else ? " " My dear Guy, you know better than that !

But you know you cannot have me always ; and oh, my dear," she goes on wistfully, " surely you will not allow one false woman to spoil your whole life?" Guy's lip curls slightly under his heavy, dark moustache. " I hope not ! " he answers, scornfully. " The love I had for Beatrice Archdale died, at once and for ever, on the day I heard of her marriage. But, mother, the whole affair sickened and disgusted me with women. With the exception of your dear little self, and Cousin Nellie, I don't care for them nor their society — as you know ; so I am afraid you will have to make up your mind to the fact that I am a confirmed old bachelor. Now, don't look so solemn, madre mia; perhaps I shall wait until that little girl of Major Carewe's grows up, and marry her, if she will have me ; which is doubtful, con sidering the venerable age I shall have attained by that time."

Then, looking at his watch, he continues, " Now I must be off; for I have to ride over to the Grange Farm before dinner, so au revoir." And, whistling to a large wolf-hound reposing on the rug at his feet, he steps out on the terrace through one of the long open French windows, and disappears. Lady Lorraine remains silently meditating, with her MOTHER AND SON. 15 hands folded in her lap, for some time after he has gone. Strange though it may seem, it is almost the first time she has spoken to Guy of Beatrice Archdale since his return from abroad, five years ago ; and her last remark has not been made without some trepidation. On some subjects her son is singularly reserved and uncommuni cative, even to her, and his unfortunate engagement is one of those subjects, as his mother well knows, so she rarely broaches it For though Guy can be unspeak ably gentle and tender when he chooses, at times he can be unspeakably the reverse ; and if anything displeases him, his manner is stern and cold to a degree.

He never speaks voluntarily of the fair Beatrice ; and so far as his mother knows, has only seen her once since her marriage ; but Lady Lorraine sometimes wonders if his old love still holds a place in his heart, and if it is for her sake that he has remained unmarried so long. But she need not fear. Guy's love, or fancy, as he now considers it, for his former fiancee is — as he has said — as completely dead as though it had never existed.

Chapter II. Father And Daughter

" I love her! When her face I see — Her simple presence wakes in me The imperishable child ! " A PLEASANT fire-lit room, in a pretty, old-fashioned house in the quiet little English village of Cranlot. A handsome white-haired old gentleman reclines in a luxurious easy-chair close to the fire, which, though it is a summer evening, burns brightly in the low grate ; for Major Carewe is somewhat of an invalid, or, at least, considers himself as such. On a low stool at his feet sits a lovely, winsome little figure, with two small white hands clasped round its knees— a position which, if not dignified, is at least com fortable. It is an exquisite little face on which the firelight shines ; exquisite both in feature, colouring, and expression. A sweet, innocent face, crowned with masses of soft, feathery dark hair, and with great, dark, heavily-fringed eyes that look earnestly out from under straight, well-defined eyebrows.

She is not particularly tall, this " little girl " of Major Carewe's ; but, like Victor Hugo's Esmeralda, " the elasticity of her slender shape makes her appear so." She is just eighteen ; and has a FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 17 wonderfully clear head and uncommonly good sense for her age — and sex. " This time to-morrow night you will be all alone, dear old dad ! " she is saying, mournfully. " I feel certain I shall hate Court Lorraine, and every one in it ! Why did you make me accept Lady Lorraine's invitation ? I am quite well now, and don't want change of air one bit ; and I am quite sure you will never be able to get on without your little Doris. Besides, I cannot bear staying with people I don't know anything about. I would far rather stay at home." " Oh ! nonsense, my dear," says her father.

" The change will do you a world of good, and Benson will look after me nicely. I know you will like Lady Lorraine ; she is, or was, a most lovely, lovable woman ; and I daresay you will not find it dull. She is sure to have some nice people staying with her. But don't forget, little woman," he continues, laughing, " that you are an engaged young lady, and that it only wants six months to your wedding-day." Doris makes no answer, but contemplates scornfully the large diamond which sparkles on her left hand ; while her little face hardens, and a strange, unamiable look comes into her soft dark eyes. For Doris's engagement, though now six months old, has brought to her little of the pleasure it would have done to most girls. Her fiance', George Clifford, is good-looking, wealthy, and madly in love with her ; but the girl is perfectly indifferent to him — indeed, if the truth were told, dislikes him — and the circumstances of their engagement are as follows.

Major Carewe, weak, shiftless, and thoughtless in most things, and thus involving himself in endless perplexities and scrapes, had reached the climax of his difficulties by B THAT LfTTLE GIRL. putting his name to a bill for a large sum, which, when it became due, he was totally unable to meet. This bill had chanced to pass into the hands of George Clifford, who was familiar enough with those ill-omened pieces of paper. He had been staying in the neighbourhood of Cranlot about this time, and having seen a good deal of pretty Doris Carewe, had resolved to make her his wife. And she? Well, she was flattered by the attentions of a man so much older than herself, and so much admired by the girls of her acquaintance ; and perhaps had en couraged him a little. But though her vanity was touched, her heart was not ; and, therefore, when he asked her the momentous question, she unhesitatingly refused him But George Clifford had had his own stubborn will too invariably during his life to be daunted by a " No," from the lips of a girl of eighteen ; so he bided his time, and when a fortunate (or unfortunate) chance threw the above-mentioned fateful little piece of blue paper into his hands, he smiled, and felt himself secure of his prize.

For if he judged Doris rightly, he thought, her tender little heart would not hesitate long if her much-loved father's happiness and comfort lay in her hands ; and he knew, also, that Major Carewe — much as he professed to love his pretty daughter — was quite selfish enough to work upon her feelings for his own ends. So Doris's lover laid his plans, and went down to Cranlot ; and after a long interview with the major, took his departure, to return the following afternoon. When Clifford had gone, Major Carewe sent for Doris to come to him in his study ; and having in a few words explained to her his position and his impending ruin, finally implored the poor child to accept George Clifford as her husband, for her father's sake. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 19 Poor little Doris ! At first she impetuously declared she would rather die; wept — -stormed — and then — yielded !

For how could she bear to think of her father homeless and ruined in his old age, while she had the power to help him ? So, when her lover came the next day for his answer, she met him like a little marble statue, and with an appealing look in her eyes that might have softened a more generous man. But it had no such effect on Mr. Clifford. She let him draw her towards him, and kiss her, though she shuddered ; let him slip a handsome ring upon her finger, and murmur words of passionate love in her unwilling ears. But she stipulated for two things : that no one should know of their engage ment for a year, and that during that time he should neither see her nor write to her. In vain he alternately pleaded and threatened ; she was stubborn, and he at last gave in, though with a very bad grace.

And now, as the time goes on, and the months fly past with what seems to her inconceivable rapidity, an awful sense of horror comes over her, as she thinks of this man whom she has promised to marry, and whom she can neither love nor respect, and in the depth of her heart both despises and fears. And somehow to-night, as she looks at her ring — the pledge of her promise — her heart feels more troubled than ever, and her eyes fill with tears. She wipes them away, however, in the friendly twilight ; and turns a cheerful enough little face to her father. " Where is Court Lorraine ? " she says, stirring the fire, as she speaks, into a more brilliant blaze. " Somewhere in Hampshire," he answers. " It is a large estate, I believe ; but I have never been there." " Does Lady Lorraine live all alone ?

" asks Doris, THAT LITTLE GIRL. 20 leaning her elbows on her knees, and blinking in thc firelight. " No, she has one son, Sir Guy Lorraine ; but I fancy he is a good deal from home ; at least he used to be." " Ah ! an only son," says Doris, making a little face. " I can imagine him ; a conceited, self-sufficient prig, of course he will be ; these only sons always are. Hid eously ugly, too, I daresay — perhaps with red hair ! I trust he will elect to be from home while / am at Court Lorraine," and she curls her little red lip in scorn. " No, I think he is rather a nice fellow from all I have heard," he answers, " though I never saw him. He was in the army at one time, I believe, but he sold out some years ago." " Why did he sell out ? " says Doris, idly. " Oh, there was not much opportunity for active service at that time ; and I daresay he finds it takes him all his time to manage his estate.

He is a sensible fellow, I've heard, and doesn't leave the management to a pack of idle parasites, who let everything go to rack and ruin. The place was terribly neglected, I believe, before he came home." Doris yawns ; she does not take much interest in Sir Guy Lorraine, or his estate either. " Why, it is ten o'clock ! " she exclaims, as the clock on the mantelpiece chimes the hour ; " and here come candles and the supper tray." Shortly after supper the Major betakes himself to his slumbers ; and Doris, having taken a last look at several new articles of attire which lie ready to be donned on the morrow, puts on a little crimson dressing-gown, and sits down to have her long hair brushed by " Nursie," otherwise Mrs. Benson. FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 21 Nursie has been Doris's sole confidante and willing' slave ever since her young mistress could speak ; and regards her as little short of perfection in every way.

It is doubtful if she looks upon her master in the same light, being a woman of acute perceptions, and shrewd insight into character. She highly disapproves of Doris's future lord and master ; and secretly hopes that some unforeseen chance may prevent him ever claiming her darling nursling as his wife. Clifford has been for the last five months in the " gorgeous East," whiling away, as best he can, the year of probation imposed upon him by his hard-hearted little love. He writes at intervals to Major Carewe, and sends home extravagantly splendid gifts to his promised bride, who looks at them with unwilling admiration, and lays them scornfully aside. To-night Doris is unusually silent and abstracted, and, after Nursie has left her, remains for some time in the same attitude, lost in thought ; then, suddenly rousing herself, she slips the glittering diamond from her left hand, and lays it carefully away in a small box, which she locks up in a drawer.

" I promised to marry George Clifford," she says to herself, defiantly, " and so I will, when the time comes ; but I will not be ticketed as his property wherever I go ; and I couldn't wear a ring like that without people noticing it ; so it shall remain here until I return." She contemplates her ringless little hand with much satisfaction ; and in less than half-an-hour is fast asleep.

Chapter III

, THAT LITTLE GIRL. " She is pretty to walk with, And witty to talk with, And pleasant, too, to think on.'' IT is an exhaustingly hot afternoon ; and under a spreading lime-tree on the lawn at Court Lorraine, sits a pretty piquant-looking girl, brown-haired and grey eyed, dividing her attention between some elaborate piece of crewel-work and a book which lies open upon her lap. This is Mrs. Derrington Trevor, otherwise " Cousin Nellie." She looks up presently to see a tall, handsome, fair-haired youth lounging across the lawn with an exaggerated appearance of fatigue and exhaustion. "Ah! Queen Eleanor!" he exclaims, letting himself fall in a limp heap beside her. " What, all alone ! Where is your devoted lord and master? Not to men tion Guy and my aunt ? " Then, without waiting for an answer, he continues, " I feel positively faint with heat and starvation.

If I had strength to struggle as far as the fruit-garden, I might revive my exhausted frame with a few peaches — as it is, I must starve until dinner time, if I survive until then." GLRL. 23 And laying his head on Mrs. Trevor's lap, he covers his face with her garden-hat — which lies on the grass beside her — and gasps audibly. " You are a lazy boy, Teddy ! " says Nellie, trying to look severe, and failing signally. " Get up directly — you are ruining all my wools ! " But he does not stir. Teddy Carstairs is the only son of Lady Lorraine's long-since-dead youngest brother. He is a mischievous, audacious, graceless, and yet wholly lovable young fellow, who holds a place only second to Guy in his aunt's heart — a fact which he well knows, and presumes upon accord ingly. In the same regiment as Derrington Trevor, the — th Hussars, he usually spends most of his leave either at Court Lorraine, or at The Cedars, the residence of Captain and Mrs. Trevor ; and has just arrived at the Court the night before this chapter opens.

Teddy is incorrigibly lazy, and rarely does anything at all unless he is absolutely obliged, in spite of many and severe lectures upon his shortcomings from his relatives, who, however, are not numerous ; for his mother died when he was born, and brothers or sisters he has none. After a few ineffectual attempts to dislodge her cousin from his comfortable resting-place, Nellie Trevor takes up her book again ; and presently Lady Lorraine joins them, serene and sweet-looking, with a piece of knitting in her hands. A few minutes pass, and Captain Trevor and Sir Guy appear, guns in hand, from the wood which almost adjoins the lawn. Derrington seats himself on the grass beside Lady Lorraine's camp-stool ; while Guy leans against the lime-tree, and talks in an undertone to Nellie. " Why, it is nearly four o'clock !

" says Lady Lorraine, looking at her watch. " I ordered the brougham at a GIRL. 24 quarter to five. Major Carewe's little girl is coming to-day, you know, Nellie ; some one must go to meet her." " Major Carewe's little girl ! " echoes Teddy, in a sepul chral voice from under Nellie's garden-hat. " Who on earth is she ? " They all laugh at his dismayed tone ; and Guy says, lazily, — " My mother feared you would find it dull, Ted ; so she has provided a companion for you." Teddy subsides again, muttering something inaudible. " Suppose you and I go to the station, Nellie ? " suggests Guy, throwing himself on the grass beside his cousin, and taking possession of the book she is reading. " I think the drive will be too much for the mother ; and I don't feel equal to bringing a strange child all by myself."

" Very well, dear," answers Nellie, clasping the strong white hand that Guy holds out to her. " I will support you in the trying ordeal." " Really," says Derrington, with a lazy smile, spreading himself still more luxuriously upon the grass, " I don't know that I shall allow you to go, Nell ! The scandal ous way in which you and Guy adore each other before my very eyes is perfectly unheard of. Aunt Hilda, I wonder you allow it ! " Aunt Hilda smiles placidly ; she is absorbed in her knitting, and does not answer. " My dear fellow," murmurs Guy, " you need not appeal to my mother. I know by experience that when she is engaged with that ball of crimson wool, all mundane affairs are as nothing to her." Captain Trevor aims the ball of scarlet wool at Guy's head ; and having missed it, rinses his eyes sleepily.

GLRL. 25 Guy and Derrington Trevor are firm friends. In the same regiment, they had always been good comrades ; but while the — th Hussars were in India, Derrington had a long, weary time of jungle fever, through which Guy had nursed him with the care and tenderness of a woman, and Derrington has never forgotten it. They have had many experiences together since then, both pleasant and otherwise, which have drawn them still •closer to each other, and when Captain Trevor, four years ago, wooed and won pretty Nellie Somerville, no one (excepting themselves) was more genuinely pleased than Nellie's cousin, Guy Lorraine. " How far did you ride to-day, Guy ? " says Lady Lorraine, having passed the intricate point in her knitting indicated by her son. " Fernslie, mother. I wanted to see a man there."

" Fernslie," she repeats. " Why, that is twenty-five miles there and back, is it not? It must have been ■dreadfully hot, I should think." " Fernslie ! On a day like this ! " ejaculates Teddy, raising himself on his elbow, with a look of horror. " Positively, Guy, I think you are the most uncomfort able fellow I know ! Fernslie ! Good gracious ! it makes me absolutely perspire to think of it ! It's thirty-five miles there and back if it's an inch. I can tell you I'm devoutly thankful you left the regiment before I entered it ; otherwise — as you would most likely have had the •command by this time — I am certain my life would have been a burden to me night and day. Your untiring energy is something fiendish ; it is, by Jove ! " " You are raving, my dear boy," observes Guy, coolly ; " the heat has affected your brain."

" Give me my hat, Ted," says Nellie, laughing ; " I am THAT LLTTLE GIRL. 26 going in. I shall be ready in time, Guy." And so saying, she vanishes. " Mr. Carstairs — Miss Carewe ! " There is a suppressed laugh in Nellie's voice as she performs this introduction ; a mischievous gleam in her grey eyes. For once, Teddy, the self-possessed, looks taken aback, as he surveys the lovely little vision before him. Then he recovers himself, and engages Miss Carewe in an animated conversation until dinner-time, when he so arranges that he sits next to her. " Do you know," he remarks to his pretty neighbour, confidentially, after the soup has been removed, " I was awfully surprised to see you so — so grown up. I under stood you were a little girl — a child ! " She laughs, a little low, amused laugh. " I saw you looked very much amazed at something : of course I did not know what.